Kindred Spirit: Book Five of the Bound Spirit Series

Talking to Rand About Being Asexual

Mei

My leg hangs lazily from my half-curled position on the family porch swing as I flip to the next page of the new Yaoi manga I’m reading. It’s early morning, the June heat still subdued as the sun crests the trees. This evening, the moms and I fly out to San Francisco for our annual pride vacation. There’s murmured activity as they go through their checklist to make sure they haven’t forgotten anything. Technically, it’s a trip to see my yéyé and nǎinǎi, but it just so happens to always land on the week of the San Francisco pride celebration.

“Did you remember the shirts?” my mother bellows from upstairs, her warm voice audible through the open window. She has volume control issues when she’s excited.

My mom laughs. “Yes, the shirts are packed.”

My mother is very proud of the shirts she found online to wear to pride, each with its own funny saying. For me, it’s a gray shirt that says, “I have an ace up my sleeve. It’s me. I’m Ace, and I’m in these sleeves.” For my mom, it’s a black shirt that says “Both? Both. Both is good,” the words in the colors of the bisexual flag, and for my mother, it’s a cute, white tank top that has a teacup on it with the saying, “I put the tea in LGBT.”

I sigh and turn to the next page. I’m normally excited for this trip, but with everything going on with Callie, I feel a little like I’m abandoning her. I know I can’t really do anything, and it will only be a week, but I’m her bestie. What if she needs me? Callie will give everything, and her guys might let her since it’s for Nolan. Someone has to look out for her and make sure she takes care of herself too. Hopefully that mate bond is good for something, and Connor will be compelled to make sure she’s okay. He seems to be obsessed with her well-being, but he’s also kind of a pushover when it comes to Callie, so who knows?

Tilting my head to the side, I frown. It’s getting to the good part—and by good part, I mean they are starting to bang—but I can’t help but wonder out loud, “Why does the uke always have to be crying and the seme have a dick the size of a fist? Seriously, simmer down. Warm a person up first. Use more lube than spit or the uke’s cum…”

“What the hell are you reading?” squawks a certain wolf shifter who has been haunting my house more frequently these days—even days when his alpha’s mate isn’t here.

Startled, I drop my book on the wooden porch. “By the goddess, wear a bell or something. How are you so big but you can sneak up on a person in their own front yard?”

Rand shrugs, dipping his hands into his pockets. “You weren’t looking, and shifters are naturally light-footed. Besides, I’m not that big.”

“You’re like a foot taller than me,” I comment, swinging my feet to the floor and picking up my book. Some of the pages are bent, and I’ve completely lost my place.

He chuckles as he approaches the porch. “You’re what? Five feet tall?”

“Five-two, thank you very much,” I mutter, flipping through the pages to find my spot again.

“I stand corrected.” He smiles. It’s a good smile—not too much teeth, but enough to show that he knows how to use a toothbrush regularly. He nods to the book in my hand. “What are you reading?”

“Japanese gay smut,” I state bluntly, an amused grin building on my face. There’s something deeply satisfying about watching him squirm.

A blush spreads on his cheeks, as his gaze bounces from my face to the book and back. “But I thought you were ace.”

“I am.” Leaning back, I push off with my feet so the swing sways gently back and forth.

Confusion takes over his features, his brows pulling low while his mouth screws to one side. “I don’t get it. Why do you read gay, uh, comics if you don’t like sex?”

Sighing, I plant my feet so the swing stops rocking and pat the bench next to me. He follows the silent command and sits down, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. I consider how much my parents might hear from their position upstairs and decide it doesn’t matter if they overhear. It’s not like they don’t know what I read and what I am. Sometimes it’s frustrating how supportive they are. How’s a girl supposed to rebel if their parents are cool with everything? Well, nearly everything. They wouldn’t let Callie stay over at Nolan’s when she was supposed to sleep here. Granted that was more of a “we were trusted with your care, so you will stay where we know you’re safe” kind of deal. They take that stuff very seriously.

“So here’s the thing,” I begin, feeling strangely anxious about it, which is weird. I’m not ashamed, so why does it matter? “I like reading about sex, I just don’t want to have sex. With gay smut, it doesn’t have anything to do with me. Just two dudes going at it. I have no part in it, even in my imagination.”

Rand taps his fingers on his knees. “I don’t understand. I thought if you were ace, that’s it. You don’t want anything to do with sex.”

“You and everyone else,” I mutter, performing the sacrilege of dog-earing my place in my book before setting it down on the ground. “So it’s like this. People get being gay or bi or het or whatever. They understand those things because they all want to have sex, it’s just who they want to do it with. Ace… It’s this complicated web that is different for every ace person. The only general running theme is that we view and approach sex differently. We don’t feel it like other people do.”

He does that head tilt thing shifters seem to do when they are really listening, which causes his sandy blond hair to fall across his forehead. It’s kind of endearing in its own way. “What do you mean?”

I tuck my hair behind my ears. “It’s not that we aren’t interested in sex. It’s that we feel little to no sexual attraction.”

A frown furrows his brow. “But how can you be interested in sex and not feel sexual attraction?”

“Because people can want sex for different reasons other than, ‘Hey, you’re hot, and it gives me the tingles’ or whatever sexual attraction feels like.”

“It gives me the tingles?” he repeats, his mouth quirking to one side as he suppresses a laugh.

“I’m guessing here, all right?” I grumble, shooting him a glare. “Anyway, here’s the short of it. Ace is this giant umbrella term for ‘it’s complicated’ when it comes to sex, but people generally fall into three categories.” I press my pointer fingers together, ticking off one. “There’s the sex repulsed. They have no interest in the nasty. Don’t want to touch it or be touched by it. Really, just keep that shit away from me.”

He nods, the first box fitting easily into what he knows about ace people.

“Then there are those who are sex neutral.” I tick off another finger. “A take it or leave it. Not going to go looking for it, but they don’t mind if it comes around sometimes. Their partner is all, ‘I want to do it,’ and they go, ‘Sure, what the hell? I like you, and I’m happy when you’re happy. Feels nice when we’re close like this’ or whatever.”

His nod is a little slower this time, but he still seems to be with me, so while touching my ring finger, I continue, “Then we have the sex positive ace. They are like, ‘I’m really into my partner, and when we do the nasty, orgasms feel good. It also makes me feel closer to them.’ It’s not like our shit is broken down there or anything. You stimulate us, the physical reaction happens. We can get horny just like everyone else.”

“You can?” His genuine surprise has me laughing so hard it takes me a moment to catch my breath.

“Yes, you dork,” I wheeze, rubbing the tears from my eyes.

His whole face flushes, and he has a hard time meeting my eyes. In a whisper, he asks, “Does that mean you… you know?”

I blink stupidly at him for a second. “Are you asking me if I masturbate?”

“No!” Rand shouts, sitting back and waving his hands in front of him, and then he groans. “Yes. Maybe? It depends. Are you going to make fun of me for asking? I just don’t get it. I thought it was just a no-go, not interested in anything like that, and now you’re telling me sometimes there is.”

He looks so befuddled that I have to resist the urge to pat him on the shoulder. When it comes to him, I get mixed up sometimes. Wolves put so much stock in touching that I have to be careful not to put the wrong message out there. Well, not so much wrong as it just… well, he’s him, and I’m me. Nothing but disappointment lies ahead.

“Like I said, it’s complicated,” I explain, running my fingernails along my denim shorts. “And what I told you are only the broad strokes of a more nuanced umbrella, so just because two people are ace doesn’t mean they are on the same level for what they want or don’t want out of sex.” I press my lips tightly together before I start to complain about how unfair it is. It’s something I’ve felt more and more as Rand and I have gotten closer. I know I’m not broken, but sometimes I feel like half a person in comparison to everyone else.

For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything, and I take his silence to mean he learned enough. However, when I reach back down for my book, ready to be absorbed with fictional characters’ lives instead of my depressing one, he blurts, “What about you?”

“What about me?” I sigh and feel instantly bad about it because his shoulders hunch under the weight of my frustration. This really matters to him, which worries me. It’s like dangling forbidden fruit in front of me. Or am I forbidden fruit for him? I don’t know. All I know is that being ace really sucks sometimes.

Wanting to squash any hopes either of us have, I decide to be embarrassingly honest because he needs to understand how weird I am. “I’m all kinds of a mess. I don’t want anyone touching me sexually, but I still like to be touched. Sometimes, I like masturbating, because it feels good, but I can also get bored halfway through and decide it’s not really worth finishing. I like stories about relationships where they do the nasty, but if that’s all there is to it, then it’s just words or pictures. It has to, you know, matter, except I watch porn every once in a while…”

“Wait, you watch porn?” He gapes at me like a fish gasping on air.

“Shh,” I shush him, waving my hands at him. “My parents are cool, but I don’t think they are watching porn cool. If they find out, there’s going to be some long talk about what sex is really like, and I’ll have to explain that I don’t actually want to have sex. I just like watching sometimes.”

“Watching?” he echoes, his amber eyes narrowed in what looks like interest.

“Well, yeah,” I answer and flash him a brave smirk that I don’t quite feel. “People think ace means we’re these sweet, innocent creatures, but some of us are kinky as fuck.” I sit up straight and lift my chin in the air like I’m not admitting all of my pervy secrets to the guy that I may—okay, totally do—have a crush on. “I’m completely down for watching. When I’m in the mood, I think it’s really hot watching two or more people go at it.” My brows pinch together as my mind tangents. “But I usually have to stop before the cum shot. All those fluids are gross, and why does it have to be on their face? Like, have some respect. Porn is so weird.”

“Or more?” he whispers, and it’s his turn to blink stupidly at me.

I shrug, sure that I’ve officially weirded him out. “Yeah. As long as they aren’t touching me, I’m not going to judge.” When he doesn’t say anything, I add, “Anyway, the point is, sex is complicated. For me, it’s all mental. Seeing and thinking about it makes me want to masturbate, but not always. It can be months where the whole concept just seems like too much work to bother, and that’s just sex.”

Frustration builds inside me as deep loneliness takes hold, and I can’t help the rant that falls from my lips. “There’s a lot more to being in a relationship with someone, but since everything is seen through the lens of sex, people just assume if you don’t want to have sex, then close friendships are all you need—not that there’s anything wrong with those who feel like that, but that’s not me.” I sniff and wipe at my eyes, which have suddenly grown blurry. “I want the cuddles and forehead kisses. I want to sit on my boyfriend’s lap and be his person. It’s a different kind of love and I want it, but finding someone like that… It’s never going to happen, so I listen to other people’s stories and that has to be enough.” A sardonic smile twists my mouth. “Maybe I’ll get a dog and train them to go find somebody if I die. That way, it won’t be weeks before someone finds my corpse.”

Rand gives me a pitying look. “Mei, that isn’t true.”

“What? You think the dog will eat me instead?” I joke, because this hurts. It hurts more than I want it to. I’ve liked guys before, but it’s always been from a distance. They were little crushes to pass the time, not something so in my face, being a cute idiot who turns into an even cuter fluffy wolf that likes pets.

“No, the other stuff.” He slides closer, rocking the swing side to side. “You’re amazing. I’m sure there’s someone out there who is perfect for you.”

But not you. It can’t be you.

I shake my head, and with a derisive snort, I spew out all the shit that’s been circling in my head and heart since I realized I was ace. “Oh yeah. Hi. So I like kissing, but not open-mouthed kissing, because I hate fluids. On occasion, I might be interested in doing something sexual, but I don’t want you to touch me that way, ever. Also again, dislike fluids, so keep your cum to yourself. I want you to be attracted to me because it feels nice to be wanted by you, but don’t expect it to be reciprocated in the same way. Like, I’ll tell you that you look good and you’re hot and all that, but not in a way that makes me want to, like, do it on the kitchen table, because if the whole ‘not wanting to be touched sexually’ thing. I’m cool with you watching porn or whatever, because I get it, urges and all that, but if you cheat on me, I will dump your ass. Relationships are all about trust and respect, and you getting that itch scratched behind my back is not cool. It’ll also crush what small bit of self-confidence I have that anyone could possibly love me. Oh, and before you ask, no, I wasn’t abused or anything and your dick won’t magically make me want to have sex all the time. So want to go out when there’s a bunch of other people out there who aren’t this neurotic about sex? Oh, you think you’re going to pass on that? I get it. I’m going to go get that dog now, so I’ll have something that’ll want to snuggle with me.”

Most people get dazed or lost after one of these long speeches, but Rand seems to have followed just fine, and of all the things he could say, he simply asks, “So you’re into guys?”

“That’s what you got out of all of that?” I question, dumbfounded by this boy who turns into a wolf and won’t leave me alone to wallow in my usually well-hidden self-pity.

“Mei, you make it sound like guys don’t want that too,” he murmurs, running a hand through his floppy hair. It’s annoying how much I want to touch his hair, wondering if it’s as soft as his wolf’s fur. “I happen to really like snuggling, and yeah, I know there’s a difference between friend snuggling and girlfriend snuggling.”

Curling my hands into fists to keep my impulses in check, I reply flatly, “You’re a wolf, like, fifty percent of the day.”

“Me being a wolf shifter has nothing to do with it,” he insists, his gaze intense.

I don’t believe him, but I acquiesce anyway. “Yeah, okay, fine. Dudes like cuddling too, but they can cuddle with people who also want to bone them. Seems like the easier option.

Rand’s eyes shift to his feet. “What about other ace people?”

At first, I wonder if he’s implying he might also be ace, but there’s a note of something I can’t quite identify in his voice. I dismiss the thought altogether, because he wouldn’t need me to explain it to him if he was also ace. What are the odds that the person I have a crush on is also like me? Slim to none in this small town.

“I already told you, we come in a variety of different flavors,” I remind him, trying not to sound completely exasperated. He’s trying to understand, and maybe with that understanding, he’ll finally leave me alone so I can wallow over my dismal future in peace. “First, I’d have to find a place where ace people would congregate, but there aren’t really ace specific areas where you go and casually meet ace people. Certainly, not around here. For argument’s sake, though, let’s say I find a meetup or club or something, then I get to play potential partner bingo.” I hold my hands up like I have a card in one hand and a marker in the other. “Oh, you occasionally want to stick it in. Sorry, that’s not on my card. Oh, you’re not interested in anything sexual at all. Damn, I need that for bingo. Oh look, my unicorn that is into all the same things I am, but I’m sorry, I’m a greedy bitch and want to date someone who I think is aesthetically attractive. Also, your personality sucks.”

Leaning back to stare up at the ceiling, my arms flop to my sides. “Even if this magical person who fits everything I’m looking for does exist, what is the likelihood I’ll find them? Also, let’s not forget I’m a witch, so that’s a whole other layer.” I lean my head to one side, my gaze landing on his face, and I notice his expression is pensive. With a sigh, I add in a defeated tone, “Look, I appreciate that you’re trying to cheer me up, but I’ve accepted that some people don’t find love. I’m lucky. I have family and friends who really love me. That’ll have to be enough.”

Shaking his head, he grips his knees—probably to keep from shaking me. “I don’t buy that. There’s someone out there for everyone.” He releases a slow breath and quietly adds, “They might be closer than you think.”

Oh no. No. No. No. This is bad. My mind spirals while my heart does a pathetic beat of hope. I’ve told him everything that’s wrong with me, and he’s still here, still hinting—or am I reading too much into this, and he’s not actually interested? He’s just being nice and trying to comfort me.

“Have you ever had a crush on someone?” he asks, glancing up at me under his blond lashes.

I squint at him, unsure if I want to know exactly where this is going. “Yes.” You. “I’m ace, not dead.”

He licks his lips. “What’s it like for you when you’re into someone?”

“Same as everyone else, except for the whole ‘I want to see them naked’ thing,” I answer and then ponder out loud, “Although I’m not necessarily opposed to that. I like looking at pretty things.”

“Mei,” he groans, and his frustration makes me smile.

“Fine. Fine.” Talking about my current feelings is too much, so I go with what happened in the past. “When I have a crush on someone, I want to be near them, but I also get really nervous. My heart pounds, and my brain stops working, so if they ever talk to me, I sound like a blithering idiot.” Not you. Why do I like you but I can still talk? How do you make me nervous and put me at ease? “I prefer admiring from a safe distance. Close enough that I can hear him talk and maybe catch a whiff of his cologne as we pass each other, but we don’t actually interact. It’s so much better if they don’t know I exist.”

His thick brows climb his forehead. “So you stalk them?”

“No. I admire from a safe distance,” I grumble, crossing my arms over my chest. “Eventually the infatuation goes away, and he goes back to being someone who has objectively attractive traits.”

Rand sits up straighter, the swing rocking with the motion. “Have you ever had a crush on someone you’re friends with?”

Lie! Say no.

“Yes,” I mutter, the truth escaping before I can stop it. Shit. Uh. Talk about the time you had a crush on Felix. Taking on a breezy tone, I continue, ignoring that everything seems to be different when it comes to Rand. “Crushes on friends are better and worse all at the same time. I mean, I get to be close with them. Generally, they are happy to see me, and I know what’s going on with them, which is nice. Talking does become difficult, but I usually just do less talking and more listening. You’d be surprised how many conversations you can get through just by smiling, nodding, and throwing in a general word of agreement every once in a while.”

See? Not talking about you. We are friends. Friendly friends that friend and nothing else.

His toes flex within his canvas sneakers, and his fingers tap out a beat on his knees. “So what do you do when someone asks you out?”

“Asks me out?” The question has a sobering effect on me. Recalling my track record of exactly zero boyfriends, I decide that I’m an idiot for thinking Rand would want to date me. “No one asks me out. I’m the loud-mouthed best friend. I’m the person guys come to for advice about how to ask out the girl they like, which is weird since I have no dating experience. It’s probably because they don’t see me as a girl girl. I’m the funny one who is just one of the guys.”

My skin feels tingly as his gaze sweeps over my body, and I can almost feel the way his eyes trail along my long black hair, the planes of my face, and my bare arms and legs. “You look like a girl girl to me.”

“Thanks, but it isn’t about me being attractive or not. It’s a state of mind.” Pulling my hair over one shoulder, I think of the countless times my hopes were dashed under the oblivious expressions of all my past crushes. “I can She’s All That with the dress and makeup and lack of glasses, but I’m still the friend. It’s just that I can look nice on rare occasions.”

“She’s All That?” His head does that tilting thing that resembles a confused puppy.

“It’s an old movie,” I explain with an eye roll. “Look it up.”

“You don’t wear glasses,” he points out.

I groan, “Not the point!”

“What is the point?” He leans his elbow on the back of the porch swing and rests his head against his hand.

“The point is no one sees me that way!” I exclaim, tugging on my hair. “And if by some bizarre miracle they did, I’m too weird for normies to actually date.”

“Why are you so down on yourself?” he asks, gently extracting my hand from my hair. “I don’t get it. You’re beautiful, smart, and funny. You are kind and uplifting to everyone around you, so why do you think you’re so unlovable?”

I stare at our hands, linked together like it could be normal. “I’m not down on myself. I’m a realist. I am smart and funny and won’t make a guy want to stab out their eyes just so they don’t have to look at me.” My smile feels warped on my face, but I hold onto the lightness, onto the part of me that’s tough and lets things just roll off my back even though my heart is bruised. “But I’m also too much work to love in that way. Loving me as a friend or as a person, sure. I’m hella lovable. I’m the best friend you could ever ask for. As a girlfriend? I’m a frustrating tease with so many rules on what is and isn’t okay that eventually, it’ll be too exhausting to deal with, especially when they could just go with the friend package. All of the benefits, none of the messy romantic shit.”

His thumb brushes over the back of my hand. “I still think you’re wrong. You are worth figuring all that stuff out.”

Slipping my hand free, I decide to go for the jugular, needing to remind my little wounded heart that he has better options. “Easy for you to say. You’ve pined over Sam for years. Come back to me when all my bullshit is your problem.”

I don’t like the way he perks up and a smile takes over his cute boy face. “So you’re saying if I asked you out, you’d say yes?”

Lifting my chin into the air, I cross my arms over my chest. “No. I’m not your Sam substitute.” That’s right. He’s not really into you. He’s a lonely boy looking to fill the hole with the closest girl around, even if he did get all growly with her that time at lunch. It was probably a wolf thing. Yeah, that’s it.

“What if I’m totally over Sam?” Being taller than me, he easily leans into my line of sight. “Would you say yes then?”

Turning my head to the side, I answer primly, “Probably not.”

He slumps back against the swing. “Why? You don’t seem to hate me, and I’m not ‘stab your eyes out so you don’t have to look at me’ ugly.”

My gaze meets his warm amber eyes, and the dejected look on his face does funny things to my heart that seems to keep needing the hope stomped out of it. “Rand, you are very cute and sweet and anyone who you go out with will be really lucky.”

“But not you,” he states, looking like a kicked puppy.

That stupid hope wants to believe that he really is over Sam, and he really does want to be with me, but even if that’s all true, it would only be temporary. “It’s one thing to assume you can handle it, and it’s completely different when you actually do it—or, in my case, not do it. Assuming you make it through the landmines of ‘does she want to be touched at all. Okay, she does, but in what way?’ and make it all the way to, ‘Hey, she wants to do something sexual with me,’ how long do you think you’ll last when you want to touch me and be close and I’m like, ‘Hard pass. All watch. No touch?’”

I’ve never been one to go for halves, so I decide to lay the truth out on the line and show him my fragile heart, which could so easily break under his good intentions. “I like you, Rand. I really do, which would make it even more painful when you realize that what I’m okay with just isn’t enough anymore. I know it sucks that Sam isn’t your person, but someone out there is. It’s flattering that you are suggesting that you’d want to date me, but I don’t want you to settle for me just to prove your point.” I clear my throat to keep the tears at bay. “I don’t need a pity date.”

It’s almost like a fire ignites within him as he quickly reaches for me, his hand encircling the back of my neck. His eyes hold me hostage under their intensity. “Being with you would never be settling. I’d be the lucky one.” He presses a featherlight kiss to my forehead, and I’m the one who starts to burn.

“What did I just say about not being a Sam substitute?” I tease, because this has to be a joke. This can’t be real. Sweet, cute, funny boys like him don’t see me.

His gaze once again holds mine, a soft smile playing on his lips. “While talking with you, I realized Sam was an infatuation, and now, she’s just someone I find objectively attractive.”

“Shut up. No using my words against me,” I grumble, and then I bite my lip to keep it from trembling. In a soft whisper, I insist, “I’m also not a conquest, and I’m not playing hard to get. I’m serious.”

“I know you are.” He releases a deep breath that brushes warmly against my skin and smells faintly of mint toothpaste. “I have one last question, and I need you to be completely honest.”

“I don’t think I’m going to like this question.” My hands twist in my lap, wanting to both pull him closer and push him away.

His thumb brushes along the nape of my neck, and goosebumps spread over my skin. “Put aside all that stuff about sex. That’s my problem. Could you see yourself dating me? Do you think you could be happy with me?”

“That’s two questions,” I state, wanting to hide from the earnest hope that stares back at me.

“Mei,” he says with an exhaled laugh.

I know it would be better to crush him now than have him crush me later, but I just can’t. “In this completely fictional scenario, sure.” My eyes skitter away as I admit, “You have an adorkable quality that isn’t so bad.”

“Isn’t so bad?” he echoes. His other hand cups my face, gently nudging me to look at him.

My heart hammers like a startled bird in a cage, and a wet laugh escapes me. “Fine! You’re cute and nice and I like being around you, so yes, if all my baggage didn’t matter, I could see myself happy… dating you or whatever.”

A triumphant grin takes over his entire face. “That’s all I needed to know.”

“You’re not going to give up, are you?” I grumble, because I don’t want to be happy about this, even though my stomach is doing somersaults and there feels like there’s too much saliva in my mouth—which is a whole brand of awful.

Humor dances in his eyes. “Nope. I can be very focused when I want to be.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Sometimes, I’m like a dog with a bone.”

“That was bad, and you should feel bad,” I reply and try not to tip over when he suddenly lets me go and rises to his feet. When he winks at me and starts to amble away, I yell, “That’s it? You just show up, ask a bunch of questions, talk about asking me out, and now you’re just going to leave?”

Rand turns around, walks up the stairs, and leans over me, resting one hand on the armrest of the swing. There’s a twinkle of mischief in his eyes that makes me feel both light and heavy. “I have plans to make. I’m going to win you over, you’ll see.”

“It’s not about winning me…” I try to protest, but he literally silences me by pressing a finger to my lips. Bold move, wolf boy.

“You’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me,” he confesses, the smile on his face turning soft, “and when I’m done, you’ll see that I’m the same for you.” He once again brushes his lips against my forehead, and then he has the gall to whistle as he walks away, leaving me stunned speechless.

The front door creaks open, and my parents walk out, watching Rand retreat around the corner of a copse of trees. Knowing him, he’s looking for a little privacy to shift and run home. I live too far away from pack grounds to walk.

“I have to give it to him, the kid has guts,” my mother comments, wrapping her arm around her wife. “I like him.”

“How much did you overhear?” I groan, burying my face in my hands.

After a kiss on her cheek, my mom extracts herself from my mother’s embrace, then she sits down next to me and gently rocks the swing. “You’re very lovable.”

“I know. I’m awesome,” I respond, glancing up at her with what I hope is a convincing smile.

My mother stands to my other side and brushes her hand down my hair. “That boy—any person—would be lucky to have the opportunity to love you.”

Tears build in my eyes, and I blot at them to keep them from running down my cheeks. “You’re my parents. You have to say that.”

Reaching over, my mom squeezes my hand with a surprising amount of strength. “Mei, look at me.”

I do as she asks, staring into a face that looks so much like my own. My mother is in me too, in the thickness and texture of my hair and the color of my eyes, like soft brushstrokes on an oil painting.

“It’s a gift to love you and be loved by you. Being asexual doesn’t make that any less true.” When I open my mouth to argue, she holds up a finger and gives me her it’s time to listen stare. “When we’re at pride, I want you to do me a favor. I want you to look for other ace people and talk to them—really talk to them. I know it will be weird and embarrassing, but you need to find your community. You’re not alone, and when we get home, we’re going to find online groups for you to join.” She looks up at my mother. “Facebook does groups, right?”

“No one my age uses Facebook,” I mutter. I love my parents, but they are so not cool.

“Then use whatever social media is out there to find your tribe,” my mother interjects firmly. “Just don’t do anything stupid. There are creeps out there.”

“That’s so comforting.” Leaning back in the swing, I stare up at the ceiling, desperately wanting to be done with this conversation.

“Do you genuinely like that boy?” my mother asks, ignoring my quip.

“His name is Rand,” I correct, and then I reluctantly admit, “Yes, okay. I like him. I told him, didn’t I?”

“Then let him woo you,” she says, her fingers lightly teasing my scalp. “I’m not saying you have to give in right away, but if you genuinely like him, don’t stand in your own way. Life is too short not to live it to the fullest.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch my mom smiling up at her wife with warmth in her gaze. It’s their love that I want—the gentle, easy way they orbit each other like it’s the most natural thing to love someone so completely.

“Fine,” I grumble, leaning into my mother’s touch while I squeeze my mom’s hand. “I’ll give him a chance.”

“Good, now that that’s settled, go get your phone and laptop. Congratulations, we’re now installing parental locks,” my mother says.

“What? Why?” I whine, begrudgingly getting to my feet.

My mom shakes her head and answers, “Porn? Really?”

“Shit! I mean, crap! I mean, what? I don’t watch porn,” I blurt in rapid succession.

They both stare at me like they can’t believe I tried to lie.

“And we’ll be reviewing your manga before you buy them,” my mom adds, retrieving my book from the porch floor. Her brows rise toward her forehead when she flips to my dog-eared page. Damn. I’m already being punished by the book gods for daring to fold a page.

“We understand that you’re seventeen and curious, so you may continue to read adult novels,” my mother offers as an olive branch, “but leave the more graphic visuals until you’re an adult, okay?”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I lean my weight onto my back foot. “I don’t understand. My eighteenth birthday is less than a year away. What does it matter?”

“A lot of growing up can happen in a year,” my mom answers, somehow sounding both mysterious and like I’m going to be grounded if I argue any more about it.

“Fine. Fine. Fine,” I reply, striding toward the door. “Just don’t blame me when you have to type in codes every time I want to look at something benign like a renaissance painting or something.”

My mother settles down beside my mom and smiles widely up at me. “That’s a burden we’re willing to bear for the sake of your developing mind.”

I wisely choose to keep my mouth shut before something snarky can fall out—a rare feat for me—and go inside to retrieve the requested electronics. It’s only for a year, and Felix is good with computers. Surely, he can help me work around it, or maybe I can get Rand to lend me his phone. I snort, imagining the blush that will reach his toes when I tell him what I want to use it for.